The Young Woman. Poem by Miki Byrne

The Young Woman.


Her eyes cup tears that tremble on
the point of descent. Her beauty is marred
by the cruel pouches left by fatigue and worry.
These unwanted visitors lodge with her and
Leave their rent in lines upon her face.

She wears her bravery, yet is transparent.
Her feelings controlled but laid out
Like wares for the buying.
Her hands tremble as she talks to us and
My story fades under the black weight of hers.

Tears spring in sympathy as she
Cuts out her heart and serves it to us.
This rare delicacy of sorrow becomes
Another morsel there that we accept
With the tea and chocolate cake.